The morning was when I came alive.
Nights were long and grueling, filled with mincing, dancing, and wearing a false face for clients. But the first sliver of light on the Street of Silk stripped it of its allure, and lost its danger too. It was when I could rub my face of the clean of the courtesan's cosmetics, and pass among the streets unhindered, mercifully free. There were places I did not go of course, the rougher parts of Flea Bottom where men would pinch you and near anyone would cut your purse if you were foolish enough to blink.
Not that I had much to steal. Mysaria kept most of my earnings for rent, cosmetics, and silks, and my mother, Alla, held the rest for safekeeping.
"You'll be respectable yet," she had said the night before, clasping my hands in hers. "We'll put this away, and with your pennies and mine, we'll build a little hoard. I'll betroth you to a -"
"A 'prentice boy, I know," I would answer. She always brought up the apprentice when she was feeling guilty. My mother didn't want this life for me, and I supposed her mother didn't want it for her either. But I knew most of my money went to my half-brother Garin, who was studying to be a Maester like his father in Oldtown. Not that I wanted her poxy 'prentice boy.
I pushed open the shudders, sticking my head out the window to catch the glitter of sunlight over Blackwater Bay. Throwing a green linen gown over my head, I plunged for the door. But Alla snatched at my sleeve.
"I don't like you gadding about." Her lips pursed. She had only four-and-ten when she had me, and she was striking woman, tall, with the olive skin and thick black hair of Dorne. In the lamplight, when she laughed with half-lidded eyes at our patrons, she was a wonder. But in light of morning, weary sorrow clouded and lined her face. It was a little too keen a mirror of my future for my comfort, but I could never tell her that. "You are a woman grown, Marai, and not stupid, but the streets aren't safe."
"There's a truce, Alla. You know that." It had been five years since the start of the war between Princess Rhaenyra and her brother Aegon, now crowned Aegon II of him name, but for the past two moons the King's Landing had been blessedly free of the shadow of dragons. We all knew conflict had to resume, and soon, but there was a kind of desperate merriment in the streets.
"Yes, the high lords in their castles say so....but," her face went pale. Prince Daemon had landed Caraxes on Visenya's Hill two years hence. The dragon had towered over her and his foot had fallen like a boulder, inches away from crushing her. Her arm had brushed against him, when she finally found the courage to run, and his flesh had been so hot it had seared her. She had been afraid to leave the brothel since. "You're too precious to risk."
She kissed my forehead, and smoothed my hair, tucking a pale curl behind my ear. She was always telling me to take better care of it, and Mysaria, ever blunt, had told me that it was the only reason I was in her establishment at all. Silver hair was not so very rare- my father had been a Lyseni merchant, and Mysaria said that near everyone in Lys had the pale hair and violet eyes of the Valyrians. There were plenty of Lyseni whores in King's Landing, but I spoke the Common Tongue and was young, so my mother's pleading had secured my place on my fifteenth nameday. I had my mother's tawny eyes and golden skin, and on that day I had wished for her hair as well.
I kissed my mother on the cheek, and with a quick farewell, I hurried through the door. I sprinted towards the harbor, where the wind flapped the hair and dresses of the shouting fishwives so they were forced to push down their aprons as they haggled. I scrambled to the rocks below, where skinny children were fishing and hunting clams, and pulled off my shoes.
I had been one of them once, with Paul and Dacey, Tansy and Hake. One by one they grew up. Dacey was newly married, not to the coveted apprentice but to a porter. Paul was a groom to Lord Rosby, and Hake had been a servant to his lady- until he was packed the Night's Watch for pinching her jewels. Tansy was now the jewel of Mysaria's establishment, witty, sparkling, and far to ladylike to dip her feet in Blackwater Bay. Now it's only me.
I hitched up my skirt and knelt in the tide, scanning the rocks for anemones and tiny crabs. I wished I could be forever in the open, in some sunny expanse in Dorne or a vast meadow in the Vale, never again to be confined to that room, that bed with its sheets that often felt more like grease than silk, never again hear the clink of coins in my open palm.
Standing up quickly, I crossed my arms and stared across the bay. I used to hope my father would come across that bay once more, haul me up into his ship, and take me away. Mother said he was dead, but so nonchalantly I never believed her.
He's never coming back, not for me. I tied my skirts in a knot at my knee. He probably doesn't even know I exist. He had known my mother for a fortnight, gifted her with pearl and onyx ring, and fled across the narrow sea.
I dove into the waves. Alla would be furious, but I had worn my oldest dress. I had learned to swim at the age of ten from a client of my mother's, a Captain of Braavos named Vallos. In the half a year I pretended he was my father, he bought us silk dresses and buttery tarts, and sang us sorrowful Myrish ballads on his old lute. I only learned later that my mother had refused to sell me to him.
But sea water cleansed and scoured, it drowned memories and silenced doubts. There were no grasping hands or wet mouths of strangers. I didn't have to laugh at a lord's cruel japes. I held my knees and let myself sink, let the weight of the water peel off the strain of a long night. My toes met the pebbled sand, and a sliver of seaweed grazed my wrist. I was an ancient relic on the ocean's floor, long forgotten and untouchable. I held my breath until my body was screaming for release, and yet I still , for those brief moments, I was free.
xxxx
I woke at dusk. It had been a year since my initiation but I had never grown used to rising with the sinking sun, and I blinked my eyes, certain it was morning before I retraced my steps. It had been noon when I had scrambled over the cobblestones towards the Street of Silk. A few lingering patrons stumbled out the brothel doors, stinking of gin, and faced the bright midday as bravely as they could, and I closed the shutters and fallen into bed, my dress still damp.
Now the shutters were open and the room was in chaos. My mother was in the chamber, combing through a chest in search of gown. I knew she would wear choose the maroon satin in the end, as she always did. "I was just about to wake you. Come quick."
Her eyes were strangely wide. Grasping my hand, she pulled me from under the covers. She had a basin ready and was scrubbing my face, before I had a chance to react. "Gods be good, girl, you smell of salt." She sighed and examined me critically. "There's no time for a bath. Seven Hells."
"What's wrong?" I finally asked her.
"Mysaria and the whole house are in an uproar. The rumor is," her voice grew solemn, quiet. "King Aegon will be here shortly."
"The king!" He had visited often enough in my childhood, before he was crowned. He was a slender man, somewhat sickly looking with the pale hale and aristocratic features of the Targaryens. I didn't remember much of his visits, only that he was always rolling on the floor, which had seemed very unlike a prince to me.
"Your lavender silk will do," she said, opening another chest and shaking it out. She tested it against my figure and flung it at me.
"I don't see the hurry," I said, shrugging. "He'll want Tansy. They all do." Tansy, with her ripe figure and chestnut hair, was by far the most popular girl. But though she teased, and pouted, and lured the patrons to her side, she was so hopelessly kind hearted that she was barely envied, let alone hated.
"Sit down girl." She pulled me down in front of the mirror of polished copper. Mysaria had a Myrish glass in which you could see your own double, but I knew we were lucky to have anything. Alla worked away at my tangled hair with a wide toothed comb. "Tansy may well catch his interest, but you know the King never comes alone. Of course he did as a prince, but a King must an entourage. My lord of Lannister is his constant companion, for one."
"Lord Tyland?" The girls spoke well of him.
"Or Lord Jason." Much less popular, but money flowed from him like water. "And various other lords and lordlings, each with money enough to keep you. A manse of your own, jewels, safety."
I smiled, though my heart was sinking. The apprentice boy was beginning to sound almost appealing. A lord sounded a fine thing to most, but I knew them too well, knew their most private and unsavory desires. To entertain a lord for a night was an unfortunate duty, but to be kept by one? Night after night in a lonely manse in the heart of the city, too lowborn to consort with my neighbors, and subject to the lowest whims and desires of a man- for a lord, for all his wealth and titles, was only a man when he was naked.
Worse than a man. For he dragged us into wars and slaughtered us for his ambitions. And yet I knew many girls who only gained a pittance for such work, and I was lucky to live in safety, with enough to eat and clothes on my back.
When my hair was free of tangles, Alla ran through it with a horsehair brush. "That's pretty, sweetling. You know, I think your little swim may have improved your hair," she added, fluffling it lightly with her palms. In the mirror's dim reflection, it was shining. Alla's eyes were shining too.
"Alla," I said, turning around, and the tears were falling freely. She never cried, not where I or anyone could see her. I wrapped my arms around her.
"Mother." I hadn't called her that since my initiation the years before. Mysaria didn't want me reminding the patrons of her age, and it became a habit to forgo it. "What's wrong?"
She wiped her eyes. "Mysaria wants to hire a new girl. From Sunspear." Her voice broke on the word.
Oh. I knew Alla worried she would lose her position here. She had worked here since her thirteenth nameday, before Mysaria had taken over. Each brothel of the higher sort kept a variety of girls, and another Dornish girl would endanger her position. Most girls didn't last past one and twenty but Alla, with her unusual beauty, had been fortunate. She had lived with various men, but had been too focused on raising her children to find a keeper. After Captain Vallos had made an offer for me, she refused any offers of protection. For my sake. We both knew that the downhill trajectory, into lower and cheaper brothels, was a bitter one. I was sick to my stomach.
"I'm- I'm old enough to take care of you."
Kissing me, she worked the precious pearl and onyx ring from her finger, and slipped it on mine. An emblem of my father. He no longer mattered to me, but it was her proudest possession. As she held me, the verbena scent of her perfume, safe and familiar, made me want to cry. "I don't know if any lord will take an interest in you tonight, but if they do, please try. I know it's hard for you, Marai, I really do. But Mysaria is adamant that tonight goes well, and you know she's been trying to teach you."
What Alla meant was that Mysaria was unhappy with my performance. She expected the best of her girls, and I did not work with enthusiasm. She had no issue with that, she had said, but when clients started taking note, there was a problem. I couldn't risk my position, not now. If I at least were a permanent fixture, I could feed the two of us.
I forced a smile. "I'll try, I promise. But when I get my mansion and servants, I may become too grand a lady for you."
Her laugh was rich and warm. "Thank you sweetling," she said. "And if you do take someone's interest, well, you can decide for yourself when the time comes."
xxx
The King did not come in secret, as he did in the days of youth, and he certainly did not roll on the floor. He was accompanied by Ser Arryk, a knight of the Kingsguard and his brother Prince Aemond Targaryen. Lord Tyland Lannister followed close behind, along with his vassal Lord Tarbeck and Ser Titus, a Reachman I had entertained before. Ser Byron Swann was there along several lords and knights I did not recognize. They made a grand entrance, but I did not feel as a subject should upon viewing the king. I had little love for the Targaryens, though I would have had my tongue out before admitting it, even to Alla. They sentenced us to death in droves with their wars whether through dragonfire or hunger and they put us to the sword as easily as they might chastise a servant, all while keeping cooly reserved, enclosed within their own glory like a bloom in a hothouse.
Mysaria had had little time, but she had managed to pull together a proper greeting. The room was ablaze with fragrant candles. We draped ourselves over velvet and samite couches, as though our entire lives were given over to leisure. Mysaria had considered having us all fall to our knees before His Grace, but she considered that he likely had enough of kneeling, and would forgive some theatrics. Tansy was there, a winning smile on her red lips. Arsa Snow from the North with jet black hair and a gloomy, nonchalant gaze, with her companion Jenelle, a plump girl who loved everyone she met, but not as much as she loved Arsa. Slender Malaya from the Summer Isles with smooth dark skin, and huge, pleading eyes waved a painted fan. Braavosi Jeyne, svelte and boyish, with a real name no one could pronounce, and a dangerous grin. The other girls stood on the balcony upstairs, peering down and waving. The sideboards were covered with capons, and roast ham, tall foamy cakes, and fruit imported directly from Dorne, with a larger feast in the backroom.
Mysaria, tall, serene, effortlessly elegant in white, was the one who knelt. A fountain ran with wine behind her, and Theo of Starfall, the bard who attended us, strummed a sweet ballad as she spoke. "Your Grace," she said in her rich voice, her lashes lowered. "You honor us with your presence. And you too, my noble lords."
"Rise, Sweetling," said Aegon, lifting her up with for kiss, and clapping for wine. He had certainly improved since I last saw him. He was broader about the chest and arms, and his face was ruddy, not sickly as I had remembered. The lords came forward, japing with each other and teasing the girls, who answered back with equal drollery. Mysaria's establishment was not known to be overly formal, in spite of its cost.
Prince Aemond, tall and lean, did not mingle with the rest. He pursed his curved lips together and studied the room. The famous sapphire that replaced his eye was covered by a thick leather patch, and his other eye was intent, as though seeking a traitor among us. It was said in the city that he was a spy, that he longed to murder his brother and steal the throne for himself, that he was cruel and vindictive. I had heard so many rumors about well known men that I rarely credited them, but his stare unnerved me and almost gave them credence. When his eye landed on me, the intensity of it chilled me.
I thought of my mother, and my promise to her. Mysaria had always told us that the men who drew back were the ones who needed coaxing the most, be they shy or merely hesitant. A cheerful man or a drunkard was no challenge at all. It would impress her if I could draw him in...and yet.
I couldn't do it. Turning from him, I hurried to the thick of the crowd. Tansy had snared the king, no surprise there. She sat in his lap, chestnut curls bouncing, regaling the company with a story about a pigboy. I had heard it before, and still I laughed. Tyland massaged Mayala's shoulders, and a slim knight kissed Arsa Snow's pale feet as she looked down on him with utter indifference. We toasted King Aegon's health, toasted Lord Tarbeck's ascent to his seat, and all the whores of Silk Street. I drank deep of the Dornish red with each salute, hoping to find my courage.
Cold hands fell over my eyes. "Who might it be, sweet girl?"
Ser Titus. He was middle aged man with brown, grey flecked hair, thick about the middle. Red cheeked, boisterous and generous, he had the mien of a kindly merchant, but his mood could quickly sour if his demands were not met.
"The High Septon. Your Holiness, you returned!" I forced myself to into enthusiasm.
"Nothing. Holy. About . Me," he said, each pause accompanied by a pinch. He swept me up in an embrace, so that my feet barely grazed the floor. Ignoring the scent of ale and sweat, I plastered a smile on my face. He leaned in for a kiss, but Jenelle walked by with and tickled his face with a massive ostrich feather.
"Brazen wench! I'll teach you to tease your betters!" He called, dropping me and reaching for her as she evaded his grasp, giggling. I should have been angry with her, but I could not feel anything beyond than relief. "I'll help you catch her, Ser Titus!"
I chased behind them, beaming, knowing well that in the end Jenelle would warm his bed, not me.
xxx
We must have chased her for mere span of minutes, and yet it felt endless. Mysaria's manse seemed deceptively small on the outside, but it was spacious, a labyrinth of chambers and hidden alcoves, tapestries and strange statues from Essos. Ser Titus was a blur in my periphery, his sharp footsteps curving around mine, unless he vanished altogether in my breathless haste.
I plunged after Jenelle, into the kitchen where the cook swore in Lorathi over a smoking roast and through the great hall where Mysaria and Tansy were beckoning the king to dinner. I spun around around a massive nude statue and up the stairs, through Tansy's chamber and into the solar. I peered under couches and darted around columns, calling for her. Thwarted, I scampered down again, hurrying through the blur of whores and patrons who snatched at me and called my name.
The cellar was was its own wonder, with more chambers and vaults than a manse in the city had any right to. They said Mysaria was a witch, and as my feet pressed over the cold stone, past the scent of strange herbs and incense and shelves sinking under the weight of dark vials, it felt true.
I shuffled into a warm fire lit chamber, neater than the others, Mysaria's study where she kept her tomes and strange collections. It was an odd, disjointed room, with jutting archways and alcoves, and strands of eerie pale light from slim windows topping the walls.
A perfect place to hide. A creak emanated from around the bend, from a false passage that had long been walled up.
I crept past the blazing heat of the fire on the balls of my feet, stiffening my muscles to quiet the rustle of my gown. I plunged into the alcove, snatching Jenelle in my arms.
Only it wasn't her. My face was pressed against a man's back, my hand grasping the leather of his doublet. My arms went limp, but I was still clutching him, and felt muscles shift beneath my hands as I disengaged my them. The lines at such gatherings were shadowy, but it was best to err on the side of respect.
"Beg pardon m'lord," I said, dipping low.
Prince Aemond Targaryen turned. The firelight blazed over his features, igniting the violet tones of his eye and curving arc of his scar. No. I strangled the unease within me.
He snapped the book in his hand close, and slipped it back into the shelf.
"I wondered what kind of material you had in this place, but I admit myself disappointed." His voice was steady and unyielding in its precision. "Merely a dusty old history, every word of it false. Mm?" The cords of his throat tightened as he loomed over me.
"My Prince, we didn't expect you here." I said, hoping my voice didn't falter. Mysaria would not want him here, but I could not tell him that. When I spoke my voice was sweet, falsely eager and almost treacly. "Come join us in the hall. There's meat and mead, and other good things."
"Good things, you say?" His lips curled, but it could hardly be called a smile. A taunt perhaps. "Delightful, but this room rather interest me. Mm. perhaps I will see if Mysaria has something more interesting than a Maester's lies tucked away."
He slipped past me, agile as a serpent. He strolled along Mysaria's shelves, tracing his fingers along the stones and jars she had gathered there.
He's only a man, I thought, attempting to still the coursing dread within me. The Targaryens ruled through fire and blood, but he might be different here in the brothel, pitiful and soft beneath his armor and silk as so many men were.
Hesitantly, as though stepping over glass, I moved to his side, remembering Mysaria's lessons. Hone in, let him feel the heat emanating from your body. I reached for his hand, holding it between mine. I could mold a man at times, bring warmth and life into his flesh, but Prince Aemond's long fingers were cold and stiff in my hand.
"What are you doing?" His tone was flat, bored as though I were too lowly to truly offend him. His gaze was on the jars, his long, keenly defined profile cast in shadow.
"I only thought..." I had never been a master of my art, not like Mysaria or my mother, but my charm had never so utterly failed me.
"You wanted to lure me away, so I didn't touch your mistress's pretty things." He laughed low, and sweeping his arm, lifted my chin with two fingers and peered at me. He tugged at a strand of hair, studying it as he curled it in his fingers. "The hair, the curve of the jaw. I should have known." He was so near me, the eye dilated, and the lips parted. "You're one Aegon's whelps, aren't you?"
"What?" My first response was utter bafflement. I yanked away, horrified. I had no claim to any birth at all, I was worse than lowborn, but the suggestion revolted me.
"Most would be honored to find themselves of royal blood. Tell me, the idea doesn't interest you?
"Of course not,"I answered, a strange foolish courage building up in me. "I may be a whore, but that doesn't mean you can play cruel japes on me." The rage and terror of years roiled in my core, the very fear of being afraid. "I have no interest in your blood, and less in your monsters and-."
The eye grew wide, and the curved mouth pursed.
Idiot. Lackwit. He could have my head for that, my mother's too. I had no doubt he would do it if he wished to, as easily as he would crush an insect. He let me stew, staring as my cheeks flamed and my heartbeat coursed through my limbs.
With no other resource, I fell to my knees. "Beg pardon, your Highness. Spare me." My voice was of necessity low, supplicant, and hateful to my ears.
Through my lowered lashes I could see his posture shift, relaxing. "Mm, it was a cruel jape, no doubt. And now that I look again, you are little like my brother. You'll learn to watch your tongue, no?"
"Yes, your Highness," I whispered, utterly debased.
"Good. Too much pride in your position will get you killed." His voice was thoughtful. "Now get up." He looked away, almost as though protecting my modesty, and motioned with his finger. I stumbled to my knees, dizzy. The last minute felt like a dream, and my body was weary from the strain of it.
"Now, out. To your party, and your mistress, and your games." He placed his long fingers on my bare shoulders and with a short laugh, he shoved me toward the door, more gently than I would have expected.